


as above, so below

by Lightningpelt



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (SoM isn't the only musical that the Archangels watch on movie night), (specifically Guys and Dolls), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Apocalypse, Armageddon happened, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Captivity, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Memory Loss, Musical References, angel with a sword
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:20:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21565996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightningpelt/pseuds/Lightningpelt
Summary: In the aftermath of Armageddon, ash lingers. In Heaven’s frigid air, it drifts about like tainted, unholy snow.Aziraphale fought during both the Great Wars; now, weighed down with commendations and war injuries, he finds himself tasked with guarding the Serpent of Eden. Though Aziraphale can’t understand why, those yellow eyes themselves are a temptation—a temptation to question everything.Or in which an angel and a demon misplace 6000 years’ worth of memories, the Antichrist and the not-so-Antichrist join forces to reverse the apocalypse, and a couple of Archangels realize that free will isn’t a thing restricted to humans.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley & Warlock Dowling, Aziraphale & Uriel (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens), Warlock Dowling & Adam Young
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43





	as above, so below

The angel walked with a limp. 

Smoke wafted through the air on sulfur-laced winds, carrying with it the distant cries of perishing mortals. They were rather late, with their lamentations—though their suffering continued, the fighting was long over. Many heard their anguish, but no one listened or made to answer. 

Blood and ash discolored the once-spotless halls, dimming the brilliant white of Heaven, smeared over walls and tracked across the floor. Angels and demons alike—their remains, rather—smoldered and vanished into nothing, water and flame indistinguishable in their end result. The angel, limping, passed them by without pause. He was tired. There was the sense of somewhere to be, something to do, but what was left? His right leg dragged; his sword weighed heavy in his hand, his fingers curled around the hilt tightly enough to seize up and stiffen, never again to release the weapon. His feet scuffed through the remnants of a comrade, soles made filthy and left to track ash across the celestial skies. 

The angel stumbled; went down onto one knee, and then rose; trudged on. The remains of war smoldered around him, and he felt he had nowhere to go. He couldn’t remember where he had to go. 

_They_ had lost.

... ... ... 

“Aziraphale.”

The archangel Gabriel stood picking grime from his lapel—all that remained of some unfortunate demon, in all likelihood. Aziraphale stood before him, posture as perfect as was expected despite the persistent ache in his leg and the odd throbbing behind his eyes. His hand still gripped the hilt of his sword, though it was now sheathed at his side. 

Gabriel chuckled, jarringly—Aziraphale started. "Finest fighter Heaven ever did see," he said, and gave Aziraphale's shoulder a playful nudge with one fist. "Don't tell Uriel I said that, though—it's close, between you two. I _did_ miss seeing you in proper action." 

Aziraphale blinked slowly, waiting for the next attack to come. Gabriel shouldn't be so relaxed, not with the war so newly ended. Surviving adversaries—beaten, with nothing to lose, now—could spring out at any moment. 

"Don't look so morose," Gabriel said, and patted his arm. Aziraphale felt something unpleasant squirm beneath his skin, where the contact was, and edged subtly away. "We've won! The Great Plan is fulfilled." 

Right. The Great Plan. Aziraphale blinked. Something about that sounded _wrong_ , but he couldn't place it. 

"Come on," Gabriel said, motioning for Aziraphale to follow. The principality did as he was told. "There’s something I’d just love to show you.” 

Aziraphale tried to uncurl his hand from his weapon; it was a vain attempt. He drew a breath, an attempt to steady himself, although he required no oxygen. The screams of humans, far below, reached him. Gabriel seemed entirely unaffected by the rabble, though, and so Aziraphale too ignored it. 

He knew he shouldn’t be frightened, had no reason to be frightened, and yet was profoundly so. He focused on Gabriel’s back—Archangel Gabriel, whom he could rely upon above all else. Gabriel’s magnificent wings were borne, folded loosely at his back, the white feathers tarnished by gray ash and ruddy blood. 

Aziraphale tried again to let go of his sword. A captive demon, screaming as though it could single-handedly bring Heaven crashing down—terrified, desperate, fighting, dying—was dragged by. Aziraphale’s fingers cramped. 

“If they never before regretted their Falls, they certainly see their folly now,” Gabriel commented. “As it was always meant to be.” He stopped beside a door, then glanced back at Aziraphale curiously. “No need to cling to your weapon. It’s _over_ , Aziraphale.” 

Gabriel’s confidence should’ve soothed him, but Aziraphale felt his feathers fluff up as though he’d just been threatened, not reassured. Still, he nodded; made a more concerted effort to release his sword, and this time managed it. The blade settled in heavily beside his hip. 

Gabriel nodded, then opened the door. “We’ve caught the serpent. The very one who started everything, the one who led God’s beloved creations astray all the way back in the Garden. He almost slipped away from us, but we, ahh... knew how to ensnare him. Quite a prize, after all this—the Original tempter. And he won’t soon escape from us now. He’d have nowhere to go, in any case.” 

Aziraphale felt a prickle up his spine. _The Original tempter... the serpent in Eden..._ He’d heard the stories. He knew the tale. He remembered Eden, had been stationed there at the Eastern Gate, and quite suddenly _despised_ the serpent who had seen it destroyed. Eden had been lovely, with sweet fruits and perfect weather. If Eden had never fallen, if _humans_ had never fallen, then all of this could have been avoided. Earth wouldn’t be burning. Humanity wouldn’t be doomed to die in pathetic droves until not a single soul remained unjudged. The air wouldn’t be filled, now, with ash and sulfur and screaming. Eden would’ve been a fine place to wile away eternity, if not for— 

“You see?” Gabriel’s voice jarred Aziraphale from his reflections, and he looked up. At the end of a brightly-lit hallway, a dark shape huddled. Gabriel set a brisk pace towards it, and Aziraphale trotted to keep up. 

There were wards—blessed symbols and words, carved in a circular formation—to create an immaterial cage. They glowed faintly, yet gave off no heat; the hall was just as crisp as any other part of Heaven. The cold light streaming in through frosted windows left no chance of concealing shadows, and so the serpent could only attempt to hide within its own coils. Quite improbably large, it appeared about the size of a human curled tightly in on itself. Indeed, and much to his present confusion, Aziraphale _saw_ the snake as it might appear in a more humanoid form: lanky, long of limb and rather unsuited to the tight fetal position they had chosen, wavy red hair swept over so as to conceal their face. 

The serpent raised its head; blinked luminous yellow eyes at the two angels—slowly, and only once. It opened its mouth as if to hiss, but no sound emerged, and a moment later it laid its head back down. Its tail twitched, but it otherwise gave the visitors very little acknowledgment. 

And Aziraphale said, softly, “Oh dear...” without particularly knowing why. 

“Oh dear indeed!” Gabriel said jovially. “How rude, to not take the proper form for conversation.” He snapped his fingers. The carvings’ glow pulsed, and the serpent bolted to quivering attention. It lashed out, snapping at the air with deadly fangs, but only crashed violently into the border of the wards. The snake jerked backwards, convulsing; it transformed, a hideous contortion of scales into skin, into a human—male-presenting, and just as Aziraphale had imagined he might be. The man sat panting, flesh steaming from whatever holy incantation Gabriel had just subjected him to. 

The demon glared at them from those same golden eyes, pupils blown wide. He bore his teeth, shaking stray red hair from his face. “Well don’t you just think you’re all _that_?” he spat, although fear couldn’t hide entirely behind bluster. It flickered like the light of dawn behind his eyes, and he snarled all the more fiercely at them for it. Aziraphale felt a pang of profound empathy; shifted uncomfortably, because fear was something he understood, and he wanted to have nothing resembling commonality with a demon. “You can singe the demon and you can _laugh_. Does that make you feel _holy_ , I suppose?” 

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel said, turning; the serpent hissed in indignation. “How would you like to be responsible for keeping guard over this great enemy?” 

Gabriel looked nothing short of _delighted_ , and the reason for that baffled Aziraphale. Honestly, he said, “Wouldn’t really like it that much...” and glanced nervously at the demon in his formless cage. The demon’s glare wasn’t so furious, now; he didn’t bare his teeth again, but simply stared with those yellow eyes. “But whatever you want of me, I’ll do, of course...” 

“Excellent,” Gabriel said, clasping his hands. “It’s decided, then. Until the day he meets with a _proper_ punishment, you’ll be responsible for keeping guard over him. A bit of stern discipline should keep him from flashing his fangs around too much, anyway, and do feel free.” 

Aziraphale nodded, something about the idea of that making his gut twist uneasily. He resisted the urge to clasp his sword once again. 

“Excellent,” Gabriel said again, with a hint more weight behind the word this time. Aziraphale’s feathers ruffled. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” 

When Archangel Gabriel had left the hall, a rattling snigger made Aziraphale jump; he looked over sharply at the demon, hiding his irreverent laughter behind a hand. 

“He’s got you _whipped_ ,” the demon said. “Who’d you peeve off to have the rotten luck of getting stuck with me?” 

“You will be _silent_!” Aziraphale snapped, and the demon tensed as the ruins flared. “Foul creature—if not for you, this never would’ve happened!” 

“ _Me_?” the demon asked, incredulous. “Your side wanted war just as badly as mine bloody did!” 

“I’ll see you watch that tongue, or I’ll smite it out!” 

“You wouldn’t have the _gall_.” 

“I would,” Aziraphale insisted. “And besides, I wasn’t talking about the war, per say. I mean humanity, if not for you, never would’ve fallen to sin.” 

The demon blinked. “Oh. The whole apple thing, you mean? All the way back then?” 

“If you hadn’t tempted them, then they never would’ve had the knowledge,” Aziraphale said, with the utmost authority. 

“But since when is knowledge all that bad a thing anyway?” the demon asked. “In fact, though not as if you _care_ , I was pretty worried about that whole blessed mess—what if encouraging them to eat the apple was the _right_ thing to do, eh? Where would that leave me? A demon, doing the right thing? That’d be quite the farse.” 

Aziraphale drew a breath, but came up short; felt, with the strongest conviction, that he’d _had_ this conversation before, with _someone_. The wording had been a bit different, but the voice— 

“Besides,” the demon carried on, oblivious, “they would’ve figured it out eventually, even without the nudge from me. Humans are like th—“ The light in his eyes dimmed suddenly, and he cut himself off; finished, almost mournfully, “... were like that. They _were_.” 

Though the war between Heaven and Hell had been settled, billions of souls took some time to collect. It would be a while, yet, before the rapture was done and over with. 

“Well,” Aziraphale said, rather brusquely, “it’s no concern of yours now, at least. Heaven has finally... triumphed over Hell. Everything will be rather lovely, going forward.” 

“Lovely... you’re really sure about that?” the serpent grumbled, and curled back in on himself. “Well, I’m glad I won’t be around to see it.”

… … … 

The snake wove in restless coils, around and around on himself. He couldn’t uncurl within the confines of the circle, so he slithered endlessly over himself in a tangle of scales and sleek body.

Aziraphale thought he might go mad just watching, never mind actually doing such a thing.

“It’s useless,” he said at last, and received no response. His feathers fluffed up to ward off the unrelenting chill of Heaven. He’d changed his clothes, since the day before, to something more suited to a civilian; it still didn’t feel quite right. He reached up to pinch the collar together, feeling as though there should be something there to adjust. “There’s no escape, vile demon.”

The serpent didn’t reply, but continued to writhe in his infinite twists. Aziraphale grew more irritated, feathers fluffing up with indignation, now.

“Heed me, demon!” he said, and snapped his fingers.

The snake jerked upright, jaws stretched wide, and a choked cry emerged from the man as he transformed. He nearly toppled over, but managed to stay sitting and glared up at the angel.

“Where do you get off?” he sneered.

“I don’t take kindly to being ignored,” Aziraphale said, his voice frosty.

“Why are you _here_?” the demon hissed. “What business is it of _yoursss_?”

“I’m to keep you under watch,” Aziraphale said calmly. “Discipline you, if necessary.”

“And was that _necessary_?” the demon sneered, smoothing back a bit of wild red hair. He shied away from the windows, shading his yellow eyes with one hand. “I wasn’t doing anything!”

“It’s impolite to ignore someone, when they’ve spoken.” Aziraphale saw that the demon’s hand, the one held near his face, was shaking rather terribly. Concern frothed up in him, but he shoved it down; decided he shouldn’t spare concern for a creature like _this_. “And besides, that twisty-twiggling _thing_ you were doing was driving me quite to distraction.”

“Twisty-twiggling _thing_?” the demon echoed, eyebrows raised. Then he narrowed his eyes. “You’d expect me to just sit here, then? Just hold still, be patient, wait until your lot decides to really end me?”

“That would be ideal, yes.”

The demon shook his head slowly. “Something else... you’re something else, Angel...”

“Angel!” Aziraphale exclaimed, feeling six thousand years’ worth of sentiment behind the word—nearly enough to knock him off his feet. He cowered behind indignation and bluster, folding his arms. “I’ll have you call me by my name, thank you!”

“I’ll call you whatever I want, Mr. Fell,” the demon sneered, and Aziraphale’s spine stiffened to near-snapping.

“ _Excuse me_?”

“A. Z. has _Fallen_ ,” the demon hissed, and Aziraphale’s wings ruffled up and rose behind him.

“Be _silent_ , foul creature!” His fingers snapped, and the wards flickered to life. A look of panic crossed the demon’s face—a realization, too late. His back arched, eyes blown wide and teeth grit to hold back a shriek of pain. The sight jarred Aziraphale and he let the blessing end in seconds, his wings drooping against his back as he watched the demon crumple.

There was a moment of quiet, only the distant sounds of the ongoing rapture and the demon’s harsh breathing. When the demon pushed himself up, his face was twisted with reproach and a deep, inexplicable sense of betrayal. Aziraphale felt as though he’d gouged out those beautiful yellow eyes with his own hands and was left staring into the raw agony of the demon’s soul.

“Aziraphale... you...” the demon rasped, face contorted, teeth borne in a snarl that was also a desperate plea.

“I’d... ask you refrain from calling me that, again,” Aziraphale whispered, feeling himself begin to tremble. Then he turned on his heel as quickly as the limp would allow, unable to stand the sight of the Original tempter brought so low, his own name framed on the serpent’s lips.

... ... ... 

“Aziraphale...” Uriel’s tone fell just shy of casual greeting, and Aziraphale started. The archangel walked briskly to meet him, still clad in soldier’s garments. Aziraphale edged slightly sidewards, unwilling to let Uriel within easy striking distance. “How goes it with the demon? Gabriel spoke with you about it, didn’t he?”

“O-Oh, the serpent?” Aziraphale asked, and received a nod. “How goes it? I suppose, oh, well enough? It isn’t as though he’s tried to escape, nothing like that.”

“But have you made him _regret_?” Uriel asked, and Aziraphale stiffened. He remembered earlier; remembered how he’d caused the demon to collapse, and the way that the creature had _looked at him_ —

“I... Yes. Regret. Of course.”

For a moment, Uriel softened. “How’s your leg?”

Aziraphale glanced down at the limb, feeling it’s stiffness; remembered the flaming arrow that had given him the injury so many millennia ago. Though hell fire and holy water in elemental forms would destroy an angel or a demon entirely, weapons treated with them were slightly less potent. Injuries sustained by such things still couldn’t simply be miracled whole again. Aziraphale knew, sacred knowledge shared by comrades on a battlefield, that Uriel bore a horrific series scars on the small of their back from scalding, serrated claws. Their right wing, too, showed some damage along the upper ridge, and it wouldn’t fold properly anymore.

“It’s, ah... acting up, a bit.” He wouldn’t have admitted such a thing to anyone else. “And your wing?”

“It’s fine,” Uriel said, extending the tawny-feathered limb slightly as if to demonstrate. “Rest does wonders.”

“What have they got you doing?”

“Interrogation,” Uriel replied, and Aziraphale stifled a shiver. “There are loose ends to tie up, questions needing answers, missing individuals to track down... you know, that sort of thing. Not the most pleasant business, but it has to be done.”

“I suppose so...”

“Michael and Gabriel are doing the really strenuous bits, though,” Uriel continued. “Down there overseeing the rapture.” They smiled, softly, and Aziraphale realized he’d almost forgotten they _could_ smile. “They’re giving the two of us a bit of rest, that way. And of course,” Uriel chuckled, an entirely unexpected and _warm_ sound, “Sandalphon’s gotten himself stuck with the bulk of the paperwork. ... It’s good to have you back, Aziraphale.”

_Back...?_ Aziraphale thought, and smiled in return. _What an odd thing to say... I haven’t gone anywhere?_ But something kept him from saying so, and instead he said, “You do look decidedly less frightening when you smile, you know.”

Uriel’s eyebrows rose. “Do I frighten you, Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale found that the question struck an unexpected chord—the answer was, of course, “N-No. Why, of course not,” and yet he felt a thrill of unease when he held Uriel’s gaze for too long. He added, in an attempt at jest, “But if I were a demon, you’d absolutely _terrify_ me!”

Uriel’s gaze turned incredulous. “If you were a demon.” Their smile was gone.

“Why, I would have heard the stories of Archangel Uriel—one of Heaven’s finest!” Aziraphale said, making a show of fright. “And I’d know my wicked time of whiles and temptations had come to a... a _righteous_ end!”

Uriel regarded him critically for another movement, deciding what to make of the act, but at last chuckled. “Well, don’t fear me, Aziraphale. You’re no demon.”

Aziraphale relaxed; smiled. “Of course. Do send my best to Gabriel and Micheal, down in the field.”

“I will.” Uriel raised a hand in farewell, then strode off toward a brightly-lit hallway.

_If I were a demon…_ Aziraphale let out a heavy breath. He was glad he’d made Uriel laugh, in the end, and yet the jest had left him feeling a bit unsettled. He considered trotting after them, seeking the safety of angelic company, but his feet wouldn’t move.

“Oh dear...” He touched his leg; glanced upwards with imploring. Screaming rose up from the direction that Uriel had vanished, and Aziraphale flinched. “... Dear.”

... ... ...

The demon was still shaped like a man, when Aziraphale returned. He looked up as Aziraphale approached, but otherwise kept his chin tucked to his knees tucked against his chest.

Aziraphale sighed; crouched down, although it was a bit awkward when his hip refused to cooperate. He kept a bit of prudent distance between himself and the circle, although the demon was powerless to reach beyond it. “What is your name?”

The demon blinked, then mumbled, “Its _Crawley_.”

Something about that struck Aziraphale as incorrect, but he didn’t raise an objection. “Crawley, then. My actions earlier, they, ah... the punishment didn’t suit the crime, so to speak. And for that I apologize.”

“Fancy yourself a generous sort then, do you?” the demon sneered, and then ducked down as if expecting to be struck. Aziraphale felt a pang of honest pity.

“The Almighty doesn’t endorse senseless violence, even where evil demons are concerned. Your punishment will be served, and it isn’t my place to decide when or how that occurs. I’ve simply been tasked with guarding you.” There was _relief_ in that justification—it wasn’t his duty to make this demon suffer, or regret what he’d done. That would be taken care of in due time, by forces more suited to it than he.

“You’re to _guard_ me, though,” the demon pointed out. “That’s just an excuse, right? It’s not as if I could get out of here. Why would I need a _guard_?”

Aziraphale chewed his bottom lip; that wasn’t incorrect. “I’m... not entirely sure. But I’ve no interest in torturing you, really.”

“Doing a fine job of it without even trying, then...” Crawley grumbled, and shifted.

“Uriel, they’re in charge of interrogations,” Aziraphale continued, now speaking only to fill the silence. “If there’s something to get out of you, they’ll do the getting it out of you. I’m simply to keep an eye.”

“Bull _shit_ ,” the demon muttered. “Why tell you to guard me at all, then? There’s something else... some motive we’re not seeing...”

It struck Aziraphale as odd how causally the demon said “we,” but it also didn’t seem wrong. So he shrugged and said, “Still all in accordance with the Great Plan, I suppose. Not our place to question.”

“It’s _ineffable_ ,” the demon said, and they both fell perfectly still.

“... The Great Plan’s... ineffable?” Aziraphale said slowly. 

“Beyond our understanding...” Crawley mumbled.

With a sense of lost eons stretching between them, angel and demon were silent. Eventually, Aziraphale asked, “Do you remember Heaven being like this? Before?”

“Err... n’ really...” the demon said, thoughtful. “Didn’t spend a lot of time in the office, though. I... I was, uh, working on the stars.”

“Oh! Alpha Centauri.”

The demon blinked; sat up straighter. “That’s the one. How’d you guess?”

Then it was Aziraphale’s turn to start, bewildered. “I’m... well, I’m not entirely sure. It seemed... correct.”

Crawley nodded, then craned his neck back. “No nighttime, here... no stars...” He hugged his knees closer to his chest. “No darkness... or warmth... how you don’t all go stark raving _mad_ is beyond me...”

Though Aziraphale agreed, he thought it best not to say that aloud. The longer he stared at the demon, though, the more certain he was that they’d encountered one another before. He simply _couldn’t_ remember where.

“Well,” Aziraphale said, and Crawley looked over. “Perhaps someday you could tell me about the stars. Never been that far from home myself, I’m afraid.”

“Maybe we could go there,” the demon said, and something in his eyes read like a desperate plea. But then he chuckled; said, “Of course not. I’m gonna die, right? I’ll never see the stars again. I’ll tell you all about them, though, if you want. But you should see them for yourself someday, too, Angel. Go there. Run away from this worthless place.”

Aziraphale felt a tug deep in his chest, like someone trying to pull him gently, patiently forward. He looked away, although he could feel the demon’s eyes linger on him. In the persistent chill of Heaven, Crawley’s yellow gaze was warm.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading~ Very much looking forward to sharing with you all that's to come! 
> 
> My dear, dear friend [AdhocPeacock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdhocPeacock/pseuds/AdhocPeacock) is writing the proverbial other half of this story—what if Hell won the Great War, instead of Heaven?—so please, _please_ give a glance to "[as within, so without](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21508693/chapters/51266197)"!


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